


Whiplash

by DolphinNeymar



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Blood, Drumming injury, Im gross but okay, M/M, PWP, Rock Montreal, Smut, injury aftercare, lots of blood, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-05 00:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17314838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DolphinNeymar/pseuds/DolphinNeymar
Summary: Roger cuts his hand open during his drum solo... and Brian helps him clean it up. Somehow they both end up messier in the process.





	Whiplash

Roger threw all of his effort into the drums that night, and on Keep Yourself Alive, his dedication did not waver. Every pop and smack on the snare drove him forward, and he was relentless, pounding away at the set, every note perfect and on cue. Brian caught his eye as he began his guitar solo, giving him a nod in acknowledgement of his playing. He returned it, sweaty and proud under the hot stage lights.

His hair was messy and slick, his shirt decidedly damp as he continued to play, and he no doubt was tired. He kept playing regardless though, as there was one thing he knew, that he had to give his one hundred percent for every show, and Rock Montreal was no different. The song ended too soon, and something stirred in him, nervousness as he sailed into his solo.

He started off with quick beats of the toms, a deep thick sound that rung throughout the room. He played them faster and faster, including the floor tom, and he beat all three in succession. The crowd were wailing and whistling, howling for more, and Taylor was absolutely loving every bit of attention.

Not paying as much attention to the drumming as he was to the crowd, he struck a beat in a weird position, and sucked in his breath as his knuckles sideswiped the rim of the drum set, tearing skin off his fingers and lacerating the far side of his right hand. There was a hot throbbing and wetness, and Roger looked down to the head of the floor tom, which was now splattered with small specs of blood. He had missed a beat but kept playing, twirling the sticks and smacking the cymbal hard before standing up.

There were little blood splatters everywhere, but not to the point where he was feeling weak or needed an ambulance. There was just a slow leaking as the thick liquid dripped ever so slowly down his fingers, and he wiped it on his pants before grabbing the large mallets used to play the tympani. After the initial cut the rest wasn’t bad, just the throbbing pain jabbing his arm as he struck the tympani, first slowly, but then rapid and hard, raising his arms above him and putting his whole body into striking the drum.

He played the rest of the show fine, but the wound would not close as long as he kept drumming, and in a way was getting worse as he flexed his knuckles over the drum sticks and preformed the powerful drum lines he was so known for. Brian was looking at him trying to figure out what was wrong, but the red and yellow lights above the stage prevented him from seeing the blood that adorned the heads of the drums like sunspots.

After the show was a different story however, as Brian sauntered over, surprised to find a very smug yet tired Roger who was surrounded by small puddles and splatters of red, clutching his hand hard. Blood was still dripping out from between his fingers as he kept tight pressure on the deep slice.

“Oh my.. Rog, hurry up and come backstage.” Brian said abruptly. He took the drummers arm and pulled him sharply around the corner, pushing him down onto a chair.

“Holy shit. I don’t even want to know how long you played with this. How did you fucking manage this anyhow?”

“Just smacked it on the rim during my solo. Cut me right open.” Roger huffed, worn out after playing for so long.

“Hold on, Ill be right back. And don’t you go off anywhere.” Brian commanded.

“That will be hard, since this is fuckin’ going off everywhere.” Roger said, raising his injured hand to counter Brian’s remark.

Brian returned a couple minutes later with a copious number of bandages and wipes. He kneeled down in front of Roger, elbows resting on the drummer’s lap, and grabbed the hand that was still sopping with blood, some half congealed and some fresh. The sight was a lot for Brian, who didn’t even like to eat meat at the wariness of bloodshed, and it made him shudder nervously.

“You can’t just do this and not tell anyone. Next time we need to actually stop so you don’t track blood everywhere and get hurt more than needed okay?” He looked up at Roger with pleading eyes. Roger rolled his eyes, trusting in his decision.

“Please?” Brian pleaded. “At least tell me, I’ll fix you up and then we can keep playing alright, just don’t pull this tough shit. You could actually ruin yourself.”

A short sigh exited Rogers lips as Brian touched his wounds with one of the cloths, and he nodded briefly, pursing his lips. “Fine. I’ll tell you, but only because I know that you can take care of it quickly.”

Brian worked on him, wiping away the blood on his knuckles with a wet cloth and drying them with the other side. He spread ointment on his fingers and brushed them across the abrasions, earning a sharp intake of breath and a hiss from the blonde. Brian glanced up with a look that said, ‘you did this to yourself’, and Roger stared deadpan at him in return. The guitarist went back to tending Rogers fingers with calculated precaution.

He wrapped four little white canvas bandages around each finger, and each was placed cleanly, covering the torn up bloody skin. Brian moved on to the large laceration, and found that no matter how much he wiped it off, the blood kept coming. Somehow Roger had managed to open the wound even more on the last song, and it was still slowly but surely leaking. The guitarist was having a hard time, and even though he was trying not to, his fingers too ended up covered in crimson, long lines of striking red dripping down his wrists.

Roger flushed. There was something vulnerable and raw about seeing Brian’s fingers coated in his blood that was more intimate than anything he’d ever experienced. Brian looked disgusted for sure, but there wasn’t a sink in the room, just a towel that was already bloody enough, a roll of gauze, and band aids.

“Well?” Roger purred. “Aren’t you going to fix this one up too?” He held up his lacerated hand, looking unimpressed.

“How am I supposed to do that? It won’t stop bleeding for god’s sake.” Brian glared up at him. “And I’ve got your mess all over me too.”

“Oh, is that so?” Roger said, all heavy-lidded looks, smirking like he had just hatched something absolutely diabolical. “How about now?” He crooned, brushing Brian’s hair out of his eyes, making sure to smear some of the liquid across the taller man’s cheek.

“You did not just fucking do that.” The guitarist growled. He leaned in close enough for their foreheads to almost touch, and Roger could feel the rare heat of anger between them. “That’s so gross. Do you have any dignity?”

“Nope.” Roger sighed, and brought both hands up to Brian’s face, leaning in closer. Brian froze as Roger’s lips met his, gentle like a test of patience. Brian’s face softened as he kissed the drummer back, breathy and soft, Roger tangling bloody fingers in his hair.

Brian remembered where he was, and pulled away, flicking his eyes around the room to make sure no one was watching.

“Come on, lets go get cleaned up.” Brian said, hushed and heated. He quickly wrapped the gauze tight around Roger’s hand, making the drummer tense in pain and suck in a breath. Brian led Roger to the sink, and the drummer slid his hand under the water, draining off the remaining blood that still clung outside of the gauze. He was careful to not get it too wet. Before Brian washed his hands though, he reached around the blonde and carded his long red-slick fingers into his mussed-up tresses.

“Payback.” Said the guitarist, smugly. Roger gripped the guitarist’s hand then, licking a stripe up his palm, leaving a strip of clear skin against the contrasting deep crimson. Brian looked at him in disgust, shuddering.

“Fuck you, that’s why.” Roger sneered. Brian flushed red and proceeded to wash the rest of the blood off, hot cascading water pooling around his hands and wrists.

The ride back to the hotel felt like forever, Freddie and John on either side of them, both barraging Roger with questions on why the fuck there was so much blood everywhere, and how he managed to even fuck his hand up that bad. He gave them the simple answers, and almost fell asleep on Brian’s shoulder, still sweaty and dead tired from the show.

They rolled up to the building and got out, Brian having to nudge Roger in order to wake him up enough to stumble out of the limo. Freddie and John bid them goodnight, both entering their rooms, and after they left, Brian guided the smaller blonde into his room, closing and locking the door behind them. Roger pressed I’m against the door, his heavy gaze looking him up and down. He brought his arms around Brian’s neck, pulling him in for another kiss. This one had more passion, Roger licking into the guitarist’s mouth and leaving little teasing bites on the other’s lips. Brian moaned softly into the kiss, which was then muffled by Roger. They pulled apart and Brian was breathing hard and deep, eyes blown, and lips bitten red.

“You too tired for this tonight?” Brian whispered into the drummer’s ear.

“Not yet, but I could use a shower beforehand.” Roger keened.

“What about both?” Brian teased. Roger hummed in response. “That sounds like heaven.”

                Brian turned on the water, insisting that he do all the work. Roger wasn’t complaining. While Brian cranked the water to exactly the right temperature, Roger tugging the bandana off his neck and pulling the grey shirt over his head, peeling it from his sweat-slick skin. He threw both articles onto the linoleum tile and sauntered towards Brian, wrapping his arms around the taller man and unbuttoning his shirt from behind.

The guitarist, now leaned against the shower door, pressed his body back onto Rogers, causing a considerable amount of friction. Roger responded with a hushed growl and popped the buttons open quicker, being sure to rake his nails down the exposed flesh left behind. He slid the button-up off the taller man’s shoulders and turned him around, pressing his mouth up to Brian’s neck, leaving open mouthed kisses trailing down to his shoulder. Roger parted from his neck and pressed a quick kiss to Brian’s mouth before uttering “Well, are we gonna get in or what?”

The pair respectively shoved their trousers and boxers down their legs and kicked them off onto the floor. Roger stood confidently as Brian seemed a bit shy about being so fully exposed, but that shyness faded when the drummer grabbed his hand and pulled him under the water with him, slamming the door shut behind them. Brian pressed close to the younger man, hands trailing through his hair under the warm water, washing out the sweat and spare blood. As soon as Brian’s hair came under the water it suddenly flattened, and Roger couldn’t help but marvel at the naked, very wet Brian before him, who was yearning to touch him all over.

He wrapped his arms around Brian’s neck, the guitarist backing him into the wall, and kissed him hard, all tongue and teeth, their breaths short within the hot clouds of steam. Brian ran his hands down Roger’s body, flicking his fingers experimentally over the drummer’s nipple before continuing downwards, making the blonde under him utter a sigh and arch into his touch.

Roger ground his hips into the guitarist’s thigh, letting out an even more wanton noise. Brian muffled him with a kiss, sliding his hand down and wrapping his long fingers around the other’s length.

Brian crooned into the drummer’s ear, voice low and soothing. “You know how long I’ve been wanting to do this to you? To see you fall apart under me?” Brian moved his hand in a steady stroking motion as Roger quaked against his chest.

“ _hh- Bri please..“_

“Please what? Tell me what you want.” The taller man huffed into Roger’s ear.

“I want you to _fuck me_ already.” The drummer whined, flashing Brian a heavy, somnolent gaze. Brian flushed red at this and opened the shower door.

“Alright then. Let me just grab the lube.” Brian stated, frankly.  Roger sighed in impatience and heard Brian rustle through a few drawers before climbing back in, smirking. “Come on Rog, bend over.”

Roger propped himself against the wall, waiting intently as Brian stood behind him, slicking up his fingers. Roger almost collapsed when he felt Brian push a wet digit up against his entrance, rubbing him over before pushing inside, gaining a sharp moan from the drummer. He pumped it in and out of him a few times before pushing in the second, stretching Roger out thoroughly. The smaller man pressed back on his fingers, feeling every callous as he fucked himself on them, Brian also driving them in. He curled them just right then, and Roger felt pleasure shoot through him, pooling at the base of his stomach.

Roger’s speech fell apart as Brian inserted the third finger, becoming a mewling mess of “ _Oh fuck_ ” and “ _Bri_ ”, and every vulgarity in between. There was a cold emptiness as Brian pulled out, but it wasn’t long until that emptiness was replaced with the head of Brian’s cock brushing against his hole. Brian kissed his shoulder gently before leaning up next to his ear.

“Ready?” Brian crooned.

“yeah” panted the blonde, unable to get many words out.

Roger heard the guitarist grunt heavily as he pushed into the drummer, and he stifled a short moan of pain as Brian began to move, starting a slow rhythm as to not hurt the other. The short hitching breaths of pain became loud breathy moans of pleasure, and Brian sped up as soon as he heard this, burying himself to the hilt in Roger, who was holding himself tight against the wall. Cries of unrestrained pleasure spilled out of him, unable to be quiet in any sense right now.

It didn’t take long for Roger to reach his end, Brian hitting the right spot each time, and soon he was unable to restrain himself. He let his body tighten and arch back into Brian as he came, bringing the guitarist with as all the muscles contracted around him. It was tight like a vice, and Brian found himself spilling into the blonde as they both had to lean against the wall, breathing hard and fast, still quaking from the intensity.

Brian slipped out of Roger, who he gently turned around, pressing another kiss to his lips, a gentle and forgiving contrast to the hard and passionate lovemaking. The water was almost cold, but Brian took the time to wash Roger off, dragging a soapy washcloth over him, placing languid kisses over his body as he rinsed him. He even washed his blonde locks, cleaning out whatever was left after the brief submersion from earlier. He sent Roger out of the shower while he washed his own mess up, hair and all, letting the drummer know that he was welcome to whatever was in his drawers to sleep in.

When he finally got out of the bathroom, all clean and hair dried, Roger was waiting for him in a pair of his flannel pajamas, grey and yellow ones with a plaid pattern. They were way too long on him, and Brian chortled at the sight.

“These are hideous you know.” Roger commented, a genuine smile adorning his face.

“Not on me they’re not.” Brian countered, throwing Roger a wink.

Roger laughed, collapsing onto the pillows. Brian got dressed quickly and threw himself down on the bed next to the blonde, and they turned to face each other, grinning stupidly.

“I fucking love you Rog.”

“And I you.” Roger purred back, cockily.

Roger curled up against the taller man, legs intertwined, pulling the covers over them, and soon they were drifting away, dead tired from the eventful evening. At least they both knew that in the morning, the both of them would still be there, waiting for the other to wake. And all resulting from a small cut.

**Author's Note:**

> I was shook to find out that drummers sometimes fuck up their hands while drumming, and I just thought this would be kind of hot rip. Hope you all enjoy~~


End file.
